


I Need Something More

by BourbonBreath



Category: Minority Report (TV 2015)
Genre: Consensual Incest, Experimental Format, M/M, Sibling Incest, Song fic, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 13:43:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5050714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BourbonBreath/pseuds/BourbonBreath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur POV, journal entry or musing about getting physical with Dash shortly after arriving at the pre-cog cabin. <br/>Inspired by the song "Touch" by Daft Punk. <br/>Experimental/Poetry-like writing style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need Something More

Touch.

I remember touch…

The mistake began with touch. 

Needing more of you has always been my downfall. 

I’m sorry I made you shiver when my hands slipped up under your shirt that night. I’m sorry I didn’t stop right there. The way your spine straightened, and then arched was too fascinating to ignore. I was making you feel something, Dash; something good. How could I not love it? 

They’ve always said you were the weak one. So, I’m sorry that I didn’t stop even though you whispered to keep going. Part of it was curiosity- of course it was. We woke up in these new bodies, so stretched and tall; bodies that felt like they didn’t fit quite right… bodies that didn’t seem to want us. 

So we wanted each other instead. 

I know you helped me when I pulled off your shirt, and that you hurried to remove mine. I know we sighed in relief when our skin touched. It could have ended there. It should have. 

I’m sorry I pressed my lips against the cool skin of your neck. I’m even more sorry that I remember the sound you made and the joy that lit in me. I remember your fingers clutching and combing through my hair, pulling me- begging me without a word. 

They’ve always said you were the weak one. I’m sorry it’s actually me. I wish I could say I didn’t know what came over me, as my hands caressed reckless patterns of want and my mouth halted just short of a claiming, sucking bruise where Agatha would see in the morning. I wish I didn’t understand, but I do. 

We were two halves, clawing and struggling to be whole again. 

For a moment, I think it worked. 

I remember touch.

Touch.


End file.
